Revenge is sweet
by angelrays
Summary: This was for my english essay but i thought i'd put it on here as well. enjoy and please review. let me know if you think i should carry on. x :


It's a life or death situation. The man kneeling in front of me, his eyes as cold and hard as stone, knows this as well. The fully loaded pistol in my hand, pointing straight at his head, is why both of us know this. The searing rage that has been simmering inside me has reached boiling point. My index finger strokes the trigger but still his face stays composed, his eyes never straying from my face. I notice that his hands are clenched but not shaking. The naked bulb above my head swings back and forth, its dim light revealing my face from the darkness, before swinging forward again to cast a hazy glow onto his. The sky is so black that I can't see anything outside anymore. Last night I was sleeping peacefully with no anxieties to keep me awake. So much has happened in just one day that I can hardly believe it has happened. My life has been turned on its head and there is no way I can turn it back. And to think that all of this happened with a knock at the door...

The fire crackled and hissed behind the grate, its warmth making my eyelids droop. But as I am almost asleep, a knock on the door wakes me with a start. I stand up, rubbing my tired eyes, and open the door. Oliver's raised hand, balled into a fist, ready to hammer the door again, froze. He looked panic-stricken; tense. He pushed past me and started to pace the length of the living-room. Oliver was usually calm so to be in this state something serious must have happened. His eyes darted left and right and his hands clenched and unclenched themselves. I closed the door gently for fear that he would literally jump out of his skin if I let it slam.

"What's wrong?" I asked and almost kicked myself for asking such a stupid question.

"I need your help. I'm in trouble," he said without looking at me.

"I'm listening." He sighed and stared into the fire.

"Before I begin, I want you to remember that I had no other option."

"I'll try to keep an open mind," I said warily. His shoulders hunched at my hesitant reply.

"I owed a lot of money to someone who was very impatient to get it back. I needed help and the only person who I could think of was Matthew Gordon." My jaw instantly tightened. Anyone involved with Matthew Gordon is either desperate, suicidal or both.

"He said that he would loan me the money if I helped him out. I had no idea what kind of help I was doing... I couldn't have known that it would be so... He asked me to kill someone." The words seemed to choke in his throat.

"What did he say when you refused?" I asked. He paused and looked at me with pleading eyes. My heart accelerated.

"You did say no, right?"

"I couldn't, Sam. I was getting out of my depth and he was the only one with a life jacket. I had no choice," he tried to explain.

"Of course you had a choice! You could have faced your problems instead of running away like the coward you obviously are!" I shouted at him. He flinched away from my raised voice.

"It takes a lot of guts to kill someone," he said quietly and I wondered if he was trying to convince me or himself.

"Who did you kill?" I asked finally and almost laughed at how absurd that question was. If I had known what Oliver meant by 'trouble' I would never have opened the door.

"If I told you, you'd never believe me," he said.

"I am past thinking this is all a big joke," I answered tersely. He nodded and then said the one name I had not been expecting.

"His brother, Maxx Gordon.

I yanked my bike from the shed and growled angrily when I saw the two flat tyres. I let it fall and kicked the dustbin.

"I don't mean to rush you, Sam, but I'd rather we get going soon," he called to me from the front of the house. I stormed back round to where he was waiting. He noticed my infuriated expression but decided not to ask.

"You'll have to sit on the handlebars. My bike isn't going to get me anywhere." For a moment he thought I was joking but soon realised that I was in no mood for contradiction. I was glad he didn't complain as he got on.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked, looking over his shoulder for a moment to read any signs of doubt on my face.

"Do you have a better one?" I snapped and he quickly turned back round and said nothing. I took his silence as a no.

I pedalled faster as we neared the train station. I had an aching stitch in my side but I ignored it as best as I could. As we rounded the last corner, however, I braked hard. Up ahead, parked just outside the gates to the train station, was a black saloon with tinted windows. Oliver flew through the air and landed with a thud on the ground. He groaned as he sat up and rubbed his head.

"What do you think you're doing? I've got enough people trying to kill me without you as well," he said, laughing at his exaggeration on the word 'people'. I couldn't say that I found it funny myself.

"What's wrong, Sam? You look like you've seen a ghost," he joked again. I tried to speak but I could no longer find my voice. He got up off the ground and glanced at me before following my gaze. As soon as he saw the car his face went an unnatural shade of white. He stepped back and bumped into me. I held tightly to his arm so that he wouldn't faint.

"Let's go," I whispered urgently but he shook his head.

"I can't... I can't..." he stuttered.

"Oliver," I hissed at him but his feet were rooted to the spot. I tried pulling him back but he wouldn't budge.

"Now, otherwise we're both going to end up six feet under," I said, slightly louder. Thankfully, my words seemed to register with him and he took one step back. Then he turned round, his face controlled but expressionless, and pushed the bike towards me.

"Go." I tried to decipher what code this could possibly mean. Get help? I have a plan? But as he looked at me, his deep brown eyes staring into my blue ones, I realised that there was no code. That he really wanted me to leave.

"What do you mean? Are you really that stupid? As soon as I go, you'll be shot down. Is that what you want?" He smiled sadly at me and then turned back round.

"Don't do this," I warned but he was no longer listening to me. He began to walk towards the car and then he glanced back.

"I can't runaway anymore, Sam. Thanks for everything." Then he breathed in and took one more step.

The bang shot through the chilling quiet and into his heart. His legs buckled underneath him and he fell once again to the ground, although this time he was not going to get back up again. His dark red blood seeped through the fabric and stained his t-shirt. His face was turned sideways and his unseeing eyes stared off to the left. My hand flew to my mouth but it didn't stop the strangled cry from escaping. I gasped for air but I was choking on the tears now spilling down my cheeks. I had to look away before I was sick. I had never seen a dead body, let alone see someone getting killed. Grief struck me so hard that I was in danger of toppling over. I grabbed hold of the bike and concentrated on breathing in and out. But the image of Oliver's face, pale and lifeless, bore into my mind and blinded me. With shaking hands, I turned the bike round and got on. There was an acidic taste in my throat that burned but my mouth was too dry to swallow. I felt for the pedal with my foot and then pushed off. I didn't dare look back, scared of what I would see. Oliver's limp body still lying on the ground or someone coming to dispose of the evidence. I pushed both thoughts away and picked up my pace.

I punched in the numbers and pressed the phone to my ear. After only two rings someone picked up. The maid.

"Is Matthew Gordon there?" I asked as politely as I could manage, wiping my wet cheeks with the back of my hand furiously.

"I'm sorry, he's out at the moment. Can I take a message?" she asked with the same politeness. I gripped the phone and gritted my teeth. Of course he wasn't there. He was probably still at the train station, getting rid of Oliver. The thought made me shudder.

"Yes. Could you tell him to meet me as soon as possible. Lock Up number 23, Crescent Walk. Tell him that if he doesn't come, the police will be getting a very interesting phone call. Have you got that?" I said curtly and smiled as I pictured his face on receiving my message.

"Yes, I think so. Sorry, I never got your name." My eyes hardened.

"He'll know exactly who I am," I said, my voice a low rumble, and then hung up.

Dad's keys jingled in my left pocket and his pistol weighed down my right. I had a clear idea of what would happen when Matthew Gordon arrived. I would raise the gun and as soon as he was close enough, I would pull the trigger. No regrets, no remorse, no guilt. Just sweet revenge. The small fact that I had never shot anything other than tin cans did not deter me from my task. He wasn't a human being for no human would ever be so cold hearted. And if I missed him the first time I knew I would kill him with the second. A malice grin spread across my face and the only feeling left inside me now was a bitter hatred that swallowed me up entirely. Maybe it was because I could no longer see sense that I was doing this. But then again, Oliver had been my best friend and I wasn't going to let his killer get away untouched.

As I strode purposefully down Crescent Walk, I could hear nothing above the roar of my blood and the deafening noise of my heart slamming against my chest. I reached for the keys, forgetting they were in my left pocket, and everything seemed to slow as I felt the cold metal of the gun. The realisation of what I was about to do hit me. I was going to murder someone, who although was not innocent in the least, was still a person. I stood in the cool air and tried to think carefully about my options. Oliver had told me that it was terrible to have no other choices. I vowed right then and there that I would not make the same mistake. If I killed Matthew then I would have to be on the run for the rest of my life, always looking over my shoulder. But if I let him go, I would always feel guilty for not getting justice for my friend. My head spun and I couldn't come to any conclusion. But the purr of an engine roused me from my thoughts. The black saloon was almost at the corner. My breath came out in ragged gasps as I turned the key and staggered inside. I switched on the single bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling. I pulled the gun from my pocket and held it firmly in my right hand. Then I raised it to eye level and aimed it at the door. There was no turning back now. I had no other options.

I had no idea what would happen when I saw him. I expected it to be difficult to kill him without feeling anything, but nothing could have prepared me for the amount of feelings that tumbled through my head as he entered. Suddenly I was about as sure of this as I was of Oliver being alive. But to my relief, my hand stayed steady and I kept my face blank.

"Hello Sam," he said with surprising confidence. It made me wonder how many times he had had a gun pointed at him.

"Hello," I said and held tighter to the gun. He smiled and took a step towards me. I raised it to his head and he paused.

"Kneel," I barked at him. He did as he was told almost immediately and I was angry at myself for being surprised. I was the one in control, not him.

"You killed Oliver."

"Well done," he said sarcastically.

"You're not even sorry, are you? All in a days work, right?"

"Right." I glared at him for agreeing with me and not looking the slightest bit phased by any of this.

"Why did you do it? Why kill him? Couldn't you have made him swear not to tell anyone and then go? Why did you have to..." I broke off and closed my eyes. I would not cry.

"I panicked. It's as simple as that. I decided to do what I thought was necessary. I suppose I should have thought about the consequences, but you can see why I would want to cover my tracks."

"Why did you want to kill your brother?" I asked, slightly curious. He sighed.

"I don't suppose it really matter if I tell you. My father seemed to have only room in his heart for one of his sons. Maxx was the golden boy; the chosen one, if you like. Maxx had the brains to do pretty much anything he wanted. When Dad died, he left most of his money to Maxx but my brother gambled it all away. You cannot even begin to imagine what that felt like. Knowing that I could have put it to a much better use. It still makes my blood boil just thinking about it."

"But why get Oliver to do it? Why not do it yourself?"

"It was a mere coincidence that Oliver asked me for help. If he hadn't, I probably would have done it myself," he said and I was astonished that this didn't seem to bother him.

"But why murder two people? Why kill Oliver as well when you already had blood on your hands?" I asked again, not satisfied with his first answer. His eyes suddenly seemed to darken considerably.

"Do you honestly think that I would let that _idiot_ live when he had that sort of information about me? I'm starting to think that his friend is just as stupid is he is. Was," he corrected himself and smiled again. I lunged for him and pressed the gun to his temple.

"Take it back!" I yelled, my finger itching to pull the trigger now. White hot anger flared inside me and all I could think of was shooting him.

"You won't shoot me," he said calmly.

"Oh? You don't think I could shoot you? After what you said and what you did?! You don't think I would shoot you!" He stood up, his eyes ablaze with the same anger that now burned inside me.

"All right then. Shoot me, coward! Shoot me!" His arms were outstretched, his eyes expectant. He had killed his own brother because he was jealous and then he had killed Oliver to cover his own back. He had killed my best friend. All I could see was the gun. The light bulb swung steadily, almost like a metronome. One moment I was bathed in light and the next I was in darkness.

Just at that moment, a gale flung open the door and swung the bulb high up in to the air, smashing it against the ceiling. Shards of glass sprinkled down on both of us like tiny crystals. The room went pitch black and as a large, strong hand grabbed my wrist, I pulled the trigger. The bang sent me stumbling backwards. The cool, brick wall made me shiver and as I slid onto the cement floor, the gun dropped with a clatter, echoing around me. Confirming my fears.

"Dear God, what have I done?"


End file.
